


Caprizant

by bacchusofficial



Series: prompts from the blue place [4]
Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: (of course), Antagonism, Bickering, Daniel Jacobi's Gun Kink, Guns, M/M, Road Trips, Robbery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 16:45:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bacchusofficial/pseuds/bacchusofficial
Summary: "Jacobi," said Kepler, with one hand on the steering wheel, the other on his sunglasses. "Have you ever robbed a gas station at gunpoint?"





	Caprizant

**Author's Note:**

> based on the prompt "caprizant" meaning "of the pulse, uneven or irregular"
> 
> this fic is 100% on brand for me... like if anyone asks me to describe my writing style i will direct them to this fic

**** "Jacobi," said Kepler, with one hand on the steering wheel, the other on his sunglasses. "Have you ever robbed a gas station at gunpoint?" 

There was a smile in his voice—not on his face, just in his voice, like any moment joy would pour right out of him.

Joy, murderous glee. Potato, potato.

"Uh," said Jacobi, as they pulled into the parking lot of a gas station. It was one of those dingy, side-of-the-highway places. They'd been driving for days, and they were in the middle of nowhere, and Kepler was bored. Ingredients for disaster. "No."

" _Well_ ," said Kepler. The car rocked as he put it in park. "First time for everything! Here." He handed Jacobi five dollars. "Go buy yourself some skittles."

"Some..." Jacobi gripped the bill, blinking hard. "Skittles, sir?"

"M&M's, if you prefer. That part doesn't matter. Just get yourself something."

"Uhh," said Jacobi. "What are  _you_  going to do?"

"Oh, you'll see," said Kepler with a cruel smile, opening the center console and taking out a black pistol. "I'll be along, just follow my lead. You can do that, right? You’ve got so much practice.”

When Kepler was in a mood like this, it was best to just do what he said. Especially when he had a gun in his hand.

So Jacobi shrugged—hey, it was free candy—and got out of the car.

"Oh, Jacobi?" Kepler added, just before Jacobi shut the door. “Try to remember you’re a professional. Don’t be _obvious_ about it.”

"Sure," Jacobi decided. He went inside. He smiled blandly at the bored attendant, then found the candy aisle and mulled over his options, still kind of pissed about Kepler’s parting comment. He was not _obvious_ , thank you very much. Just because he'd never robbed a gas station at gunpoint didn't mean he'd never pocketed some skittles before.

As the attendant rung up the skittles and a can of Arizona tea, the bell on the door to Jacobi's left chimed gleefully. 

Kepler strolled in with his sunglasses on, walked up to Jacobi, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and put a gun to his head. Jacobi’s breath caught in his throat and he froze. 

The attendant’s handful of change slipped to the floor, her mouth agape. Kepler’s teeth glinted. 

“You know what to do, friend,” he told her. 

“I… oh, _ohmygod_ ,” the attendant choked. Her whole body shook.

Several seconds of silence, then Jacobi suddenly recalled his own fear. “Um,” he croaked. “I. Well! _Fuck._ ” 

Casually, Kepler’s free hand snaked from Jacobi’s shoulder to his throat. Whether this was to make Jacobi shut up or to make the attendant more afraid was unclear—it worked for both, as well as wrapped Jacobi closer to him. 

Kepler raised his eyebrows at the attendant, tapping the barrel of the gun with an impatient index finger. The sound made the hair on the back of Jacobi’s neck stand up. “Well?” 

While she fumbled at the register, Kepler used his new closeness to Jacobi to bring his lips close to Jacobi’s ear and say in a voice loud enough for the attendant to hear but low enough to make Jacobi squirm, “I’d hope she gets a move on, if I were you.”

When Jacobi swallowed, he could feel Kepler’s hand squeezing every part of his throat. He didn’t know what he’d expected when they’d pulled into the gas station, but it was not whatever this game was. 

(On an unrelated note, he kind of liked whatever this game was.)

The attendant shoved stacks of money across the counter, “There,” she said, “There, it’s all there, just—please, don’t kill him.”

“Please don’t kill me,” Jacobi repeated. Out of the corner of his eye, thought he saw Kepler almost smile at him. 

“Oh, you—you thought I was going to kill him?” asked Kepler, with a concern most people saved for little kids. Then he laughed, a very specific, _I’m-smarter-than-you_ laugh. “Now why, on earth, would I do something like that?” 

And, smiling, Kepler gestured at the money on the counter with the gun. “Get the money, Daniel.” As Kepler’s hand left Jacobi’s throat, it ran briefly through his hair, like a dog, and he crooned, “Good job.” 

Jacobi couldn’t help his own little smile—it was a reflex, okay?—as he grabbed the money and his skittles, despite some person deep inside him feeling bad about the look on the attendant’s face. 

The person not deep inside him, the one Jacobi had lived comfortably with/as for about eight years now, thought it was funny. 

“Thanks,” he said, and for whatever reason—maybe because the adrenaline was still running in him and that stuff always made him stupider, or maybe because he _did_ want Kepler to kill him, after all—as Jacobi walked out the door with the money tucked under one arm, he grabbed Kepler by the collar and pulled him into a brief, biting kiss. 

Then he skipped out, just for good measure. (Hey, if you were going to rob a place, at least do it in style). 

The fact that that kiss, and not the whole armed-robbery situation, was what made the attendant start screaming, made all Jacobi’s guilt disappear. Who knew that all it took to live a regret-free life was to be gay and do crime! 

As Jacobi opened his skittles in the car, Kepler climbed into the driver’s seat, tossed the gun into the backseat, and grinned as he threw the car into reverse. “See? Wasn’t that fun?”

“It was alright,” shrugged Jacobi, mouth full of skittles. His heart was beating its fists against the bars of his ribcage—he thought he might burst open. He couldn’t wait to get back on the road, so he could feel the wind on his face and through his hair. At least he had skittles. 

“All-right,” said Kepler, with satisfaction—this meant he was back in good spirits, if he was saying single words like they were whole novels, which was good, because Jacobi’d been dreading another ten hours in the car with Mr. Grumpy Sunglasses Man. “Of course, if you ever pull something like _that_ again, I’ll take your shoes and your wallet, leave you on the side of the road, and you will walk barefoot to California.”

“Something like what?” said Jacobi, innocently, counting the money in his lap. “Sir, I just _ever_ so _much_ don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Kepler rolled down Jacobi’s window. Jacobi frowned. “Why—“

Kepler yanked the skittles out of his hand and threw them out the window onto the highway. 

_“Hey!_ Come on, what the hell is wrong with—”

“Oh, Ja _co_ bi, I just ever so much don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kepler said, smiling like a cat, and Jacobi sulked for another few hours. 

Until they had to stop for gas again. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks every1 for reading/enjoying/kudos/comments u are the best! love yall.


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